


Forever Hold Your Peace

by WritingYay



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Angst, Bit sad, Boys In Love, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humour, Love Confessions, M/M, Swearing, Time Jump, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-19 16:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingYay/pseuds/WritingYay
Summary: “What are you doing?” Taron hisses, shoving his hands into his suit pockets to wrap his fingers in the material. Richard’s eyes pulse comically before he stalks towards Taron with a jaw so tight it could sever diamond.“What am I doing?” He almost-shouts; panic fire rushing through his veins in illuminated tendrils. “I’m getting married. What thefuckdo you think you’re doing, Taron?”





	1. Chapter 1

The invitation falls through Taron’s letterbox on a Thursday morning, and his entire world explodes.

Who knew a small ivory envelope adorned with lilac ribbon and black calligraphy could literally make him feel like he was being stabbed through the heart by a billion paper cuts? It felt weighty in his hands; heavy with regret and secrecy. Taron wants to rip the damn thing open and let the truth fly free, but that would mean ruining a wedding and he’s not _that_ sort of dickhead… 

He does what any good friend would do, and he slams the invitation as far as it will go into the bin. It stares up at him mockingly when he smashes the lid shut, but one rectangle of posh paper was not going to be his undoing _goddamnit_. 

He’s careful to keep his tone even when Richard rings him the following week as he’s halfway through making lasagne. The call joins and he swears viciously when he catches his little finger on the scalding pan. “Alright mate?”

Richard laughs breathily through the speaker and it’s a sound Taron would genuinely die to hear for the rest of his life. “Fucks sake, you’re not cooking again are you?”

Taron looks down at his kitchen counter, drowning in tomato and mince grease and winces slowly. “Uh… no?”

“C’mon, T.” Richard huffs. “The roast chicken debacle of the month of May? I thought we agreed you’d leave the food to me?”

“Right, and what am I supposed to eat in the meantime when you’re swanning off around the world and not in London?”

“Three words, Taron,” his best friends sighs, sounding as tired as Taron feels. “Click and collect.”

Taron shakes his head and puts his phone on speaker to start constructing his Spinnaker Tower of beef and pasta sheets. “Moron.” He replies fondly and revels in the lazy chuckle that radiates from the line. “What’s up?”

Richard clears his throat, uncomfortably. It’s a sound that makes Taron freeze and nearly crack his pasta in half.

“So… I’m only asking because Rose is on my back about numbers, so I’m not pressuring you if you’re not sure or whatever, but did you get a wedding invitation?” He sounds wary, like Taron’s gonna bite his head off.

In a perfect world, Taron would be honest. He’d tell his friend that he dumped the bloody thing, because it reminded him yet again that he can’t have the man he’s arse over tit for because said man is marrying a model. What a conversation that would be: _Ah, no Rich, I’d rather scratch my eyeballs out than watch you marry someone else when you know full well that you love me, hashtag fuck off and die you perfect prick._

“No?” Is what actually spews out of Taron’s lying gob. “What invitation?”

Richard actually sounds relieved when he sighs, which makes Taron feel like an awful human for even contemplating not attending. “Bloody courier company. I knew you wouldn’t ha’ignored it. Rose and I have sorted a date for the wedding and we kinda need RSVPs by like, uh- three o’clock today?”

“Shit.” Taron forces out, refusing to flick his eyes to his emptied bin. “T-That’s amazing, mate. When are you thinking?”

“2nd of September.” Richard replies, and Taron nearly chokes on his tongue. “Down in Rose’s family estate in Padstow?”

The Welshman’s voice trembles in raw vibrations when he splutters out: “September? Jesus, that’s only two months away?”

“Yeah,” Richard laughs. “It all came together quite perfectly.”

_Of course it fucking did_ , is what Taron wants to reply but he relaxes himself with a deep breath and plasters a fake smile across his face. 

“Sounds like it.”

Silence.

“So uh,” Richard begins, rather quietly. “You know it would mean more than the world to me if you could make it.”

That’s too much. He sounds so uncertain and vulnerable, two adjectives one would not normally use to describe Richard Madden- chain-smoking, GQ Man of the Year, fucking gorgeous for mid-thirties, smooth-talker extraordinaire. Taron rocks forward onto his elbows on the marble, ignoring the stray bits of mushroom sticking to his skin, and smacks his palms over his eyes.

“Jesus, Rich, you know I’ll be there.” He sounds muffled against his hands but it’s seemingly loud and clear for the other man, who exhales shakily in relief. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Thank fuck.” Richard agrees. There’s rustling on his end of the line and all Taron wants to do is smush his face into his unstable lasagne and never come back up. “Alright, I’ve got to go and track down some more missing invites so I’ll catch ya’ later, yeah?”

“Uh huh.” Taron sort-of whines. “Tell Rose to breathe. Love you.”

The sentiment is returned, and in the blink of an eye Taron is back to being single and second-best, making questionable Italian food on a Friday lunchtime when he could be doing anything else. He stares down at his bombsite of a kitchen, and throws his head back to yell obscenities at the ceiling.

Thank _fuck_ Richard hadn’t asked him to be his best man. He might’ve just climbed into the oven with his food and been done with it.

-

“If I didn’t think you were the strongest man I’ve ever met before all this,” Hugh nods seriously, the crescendo of the pub’s live band echoing behind them. “I do now.”

Taron makes an affirmative noise into his pint and Hugh’s eyebrows draw closer together with pity.

Working with Hugh a few years prior had been a turning point in Taron’s career for many reasons. Not only because doing the Eddie film had primarily displayed his acting diversity (Dex doesn’t call him ‘Chameleon’ for nothing) but because being thrown into a feature film with one of the world’s best actors had helped an unlikely friendship to blossom. Hugh had been one of the confidants that Taron had heavily leaned on when he’d realised that he was in love with his handsome co-star after _Rocketman_ had wrapped. Instead of laughing at him, Hugh had been scarily understanding and upon deeper analysis, and Taron had realised that everyone has skeletons in their closet- not just him. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna sit there and watch them get married.” Taron whispers, his mouthy exhalations sending ripples across the surface of his beer. “They’re my friends, I should be so happy for them but-”

“It should be you.” Hugh finishes for him. Taron flits his gaze up with wide, hopeful eyes.

“You reckon?” 

“He loves you,” the older guy replies with incandescent severity. “Anyone can see that.”

Post-filming, he and Richard had been well… _fucking around_ for lack of a better term. Sure, at the time it had just been mind-blowing sex to beat off the spiralling loneliness that always comes with wrapping, but only after they’d stopped had Taron realised that he’d fallen. Not just slipped off a shallow ledge either, but fallen from a gaping ravine into a rainforest waterfall. From great height, fast and messy, and with all the grace of the Golden Globes afterparty. 

Dampening those feelings is the biggest mistake he’s ever made, bar none. According to Jamie, Richard had been moping to him that he felt the same way about Taron, but Taron only found that out after Rose had waltzed into their lives and enchanted Madden with her long legs and her conventional femininity. Fucking Jamie, his timing had been shit. 

“I just feel so bad.” Taron mutters hoarsely, and wipes his knuckles across his purple-dabbed eyes. 

“Convincing him to run off into the sunset with you just doesn’t seem your style, mate.” Hugh points out with a shrug. 

“I could kidnap him?”

“Uh-huh,” Hugh says thoughtfully, like he’s genuinely considering it. “But I think his fiancé might notice.”

Taron snorts. A hubbub rises from the crowd gathered right in front of the band as the quartet seemingly build up the opening chords of a popular song. Through the gaps between shoulders and sloshing pints over sparkling glass, Taron can see the wide-eyed surprise of the band as the crowd begins to hum along. The looks scream spellbound wonder at the bond between performer and fan; it’s a heady content he would kill to have a miniscule of.

Richard Madden was a huge Scottish headache, through no fault of his own. All he did was be annoyingly perfect, and Taron was slowly sinking. Perhaps, the worst thing the older man had done was love Taron back, albeit secretly. It gave Taron dangerous hope, even though Richard was starting a new life with Rose in just over six weeks.

“What would you do?” He asks, completely dreading the answer.

Hugh freezes with his drink halfway to his lips and regards Taron carefully for a moment. His eyes spin with thought before he places his glass down with a measured sigh.

“I honestly don’t know. That’s not me pussying out on an answer, that’s me genuinely not knowing. I also don’t know what you want to hear, so I can’t even guess what to say.” Without catching Taron’s gaze, he thumbs over the faded image on his beermat and clears his throat. 

Taron just nods. “Helpful.”

He gets rolled eyes in return. “The timing is just shit. If Jamie had told you sooner that Richard loved you back, you could’ve nipped it in the bud?”

“I blame Jamie for this.”

It’s the easy thing to say. In reality, the whole thing was a twisted web of lies and secrets that ultimately had stung Taron like prey and kept him wrapped up for too long. 

Hugh laughs and gestures at Taron with his pint. “Agreed, this is all Jamie’s fault. Fuck him for being such a good listener and trustworthy friend.”

They clink their glasses together before simultaneously downing the dregs of alcohol and wincing as it burned, before feeling some relief that it took some of the bite out of the encompassing pain. Taron stares at the amber liquid, steadying himself to pose the question he doesn’t want to know the truth to. 

“I’m too late though.” He swallows around the nails lodged in his windpipe with a squelch. Transfixed, he watches as Hugh inwardly curses the honesty. They sit in tense silence as a combined thought passes between them. It’s out of reach now. Done and dusted. Move on. 

“Yeah,” finally comes, and Hugh actually seems apologetic about it. “Yeah, mate, I think you might be.”

-

“Hurry the fuck up, Taron!” Jamie yells over the dressing room curtain, and the sharp-faced Tom Ford customer assistant waiting by the tills sends him a disapproving glare. He gives her a charming, yet apologetic grin in return before pointing at the room Taron’s occupying and rolling his eyes.

“It’s a fuckin’ full suit,” Taron hisses back. “Not a pair of jeans. Keep your hair on.”

Jamie sighs and fishes his phone out of his pocket to finish his level of _Doodle Jump_. Then, the velvet curtain rips back to reveal Taron, feet shoulder-width apart and hands on hips, craning his neck in a superhero pose. His friend splutters over a laugh, before wolf-whistling obscenely.

“Jesus Christ.” He says, eyes dragging from Taron’s feet all the way to his face. “You look fit.”

Taron raises his eyebrows cheekily and turns to check himself out in the wall-to-wall silver encrusted mirror. He tugs the jacket down a bit further over his belt and clenches his jaw to pout at his reflection. The fitted burgundy trousers cling to his thighs properly and the slim-cut actually seems to accentuate his legs to make him look a bit taller. Complete with a pressed white shirt, black tie and tailored burgundy jacket, he looks damn good. His mind flits to Richard’s reaction, but he dispels those thoughts with a sharp cough. 

“You think?”

Jamie nods and moves closer to stand directly behind Taron’s shoulder. “I think you may need to be careful that Rose doesn’t want to marry you instead when you walk into the church.”

_I’d rather it be her future husband who wants to sweep me off my feet,_ Taron thinks but clenches his mouth shut and smiles gently instead. Jamie notices the awkward pause and claps a hand down on his friend’s back. 

“Well that’s the suit done then. I can’t believe you’re getting this for free with your sponsor, jammy git.”

Taron winks at him in the mirror and throws his hands above his head. “Who wouldn’t want to dress a successful actor?”

“Fuck off.” Jamie jokes, already back to his phone. “Get a move on, will ya? My stomach thinks me’ throat’s been cut.”

After the young worker has flirted shamelessly with Taron for a good five minutes whilst they sort out the delivery of the suit, they find themselves in a quiet sun-trap in Chelsea, sipping on cocktails and turning red in the heat. 

Jamie turns to Taron and drops his sunglasses to the end of his nose to peer over the red frames. “Apparently Rich had to ring you up about the wedding because you didn’t reply to the RSVP?” 

His attempt at being all nonchalant falls rather flat. Taron chokes on his mango daquiri and glares at the other man through a splutter. 

“Before you say anything, I didn’t even get the invite.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Jamie surrenders. “Bit odd though, that yours was the only one that didn’t get delivered.” 

They fall into quiet when the waitress brings them their lunch and does a shoddy job at pretending she doesn’t recognise them. Taron waits until she scurries away and sighs.

“Not sure where you’re going with this one, mate.” 

Jamie snorts. “Of course you bloody do. I know it’s hard for you, but you’ve got to remember that-”

“Jay.” Taron snaps, instantly regretting his tone when Jamie looks taken aback. “Can we not have this conversation, please?”

With eyebrows so arched they could pull them both up to space, Jamie sits back in his chair and stretches out his palms calmly. “Yep, of course. Sorry. We won’t talk about how you’re dangerously in love with your best friend and have to watch him marry somebody else in a few weeks.”

Taron shakes his head in warning, knowing full well that Jamie was never going to be undeterred. Most of the time, Jamie was relentless with issues as big as this, but his knowledge of his two oblivious friends’ feelings for each other left him like Gemma Collins with a phone charger. He would not let it go until he was satisfied that they could both live in harmony; one of them blatantly refusing to attend the other one’s wedding was _not_ part of his civil plan. 

“I talked to Hugh about it,” Taron finally shares. “It was good talkin’ to him. I know nothing can happen between us now.”

“Hugh?” Jamie throws his head back and laughs around a mouthful of grated carrot. “Fuck me, Taron. Asking him for advice on this is like asking the Pope for sex tips!”

“He was great.” Taron defends. “Better than you anyway, ya’ melt.”

Jamie continues to laugh to himself. “You don’t make it easy for yourself, do you?”

Taron huffs and stabs at his chicken with more force than was strictly necessary. “He rightly said that this all your fault.”

“My fault? How, pray tell?”

“You being all loyal and trustworthy to us when we both shared our secrets meant that I didn’t know he felt the same way until he was dating Rose.” Taron gestures wildly with his fork to accentuate every word. Jamie cowers back away from the sharp utensil. “I could’ve done something about it otherwise.”

“Ah yes. The main downfall here was that I’m too good of a friend.” Jamie chuckles.

Taron shrugs. “That’s what Hugh said.”

Silence falls on the two as they busy themselves with their food. Colourful bunting flapped in the breeze above the canopy, the strings tying it down loosening with every gust. 

Jamie clears his throat, and doesn’t meet Taron’s gaze. “You wouldn’t have done anything about it, even if he wasn’t dating Rose.”

That causes Taron to do a visible double-take. He furrows his eyebrows and grimaces into the shadows. “Why?”

“You value your friendship with him more than anyone.” Jamie nods, suddenly very serious. “An’ you’d be worried that confessing your undying love for the man would ruin that.”

He’s completely and utterly right, and Taron wants to pierce his fork through the moral bastard’s sorry looking eyes. 

-

“Oop, and there’s Sophie and Joe.” Jamie nudges Taron in the ribs for the hundredth time that day. They’re standing in the beautiful courtyard with champagne, waiting to be able to take their seats in the church. “Oh, and Maisie’s here. Kit too, look! That fifth rehab did him the world of good. And… yep, look there’s Lily and I think that’s the back of Matt’s head? Taron, the Eternals cast have just arrived. Fuck me, that’s a lot of designer clothing.”

“Jamie.” Taron wants to shout, but the place is swimming with famous directors so he settles on hissing it. “Will you please stop playing spot the celebrity?”

Jamie pouts. “I bet we’re getting counted in other people’s games.”

“I’ve got an Oscar.” Taron sips at his champagne with raised eyebrows. “I know _I’m_ getting counted.”

“Oof.” His companion giggles with mock hurt. “You jammy bastard.”

Taron chuckles quietly and surveys the thick crowd. Jamie was right, it really was fifty-fifty actor and family members out there. Like Cannes, but with fewer VIP sectors. 

“So what’s the deal with Elton again?”

“Food poisoning.” Taron winces. “All four of ‘em.”

Jamie whistles pityingly. “Dexter?”

“He did text me.” Taron shrugs, peering through the fascinators and bow-ties. “I think he’s lurking somewhere.” 

From here, a salty coastal breeze was evident. It tickles the fine hairs on Taron’s face, making him shiver. Suddenly there’s a lot of movement in the thickest bulge of the crowd, and guests start to file into the church doors. He gets a sharp elbow from Jamie in his sternum. 

“Ah, finally, we’re going in.”

Taron isn’t entirely sure what makes him open his mouth and say it, but suddenly the words tumble from his tongue. “You go and nab us seats, I’m gonna go and find Rich quickly.” 

Jamie stops trying to slide between the more relaxed guests who haven’t moved and fixes his friend with accusing eyebrows.

“Why?”

Taron rolls his eyes. “To make sure he’s okay, why do you think? He should be lurking by the vestry before he goes down.”

“Alright,” Jamie concedes with a tight smile. “Don’t be too long, or a young lady may have to take your place.”

He disappears into the thrum. Taron manages to politely push his way through with mutterings that he had urgent duties (“sorry, sorry, I’ve got to find the groom- he left his cufflinks at th’bloody hotel, excuse me”) until he’s standing in the middle of the church feeling extremely exposed. The building is decorated beautifully, even though it screamed _Rose_ and not _Joint Decisions_. Finding Richard was easy enough. Taron just had to follow the sound of pacing footsteps, and there he was- het up and frowning when Taron pushes the back door open. 

“Hey.” He says, surprised. 

“Hi.” Taron replies, mouth dry. He gets pulled into a crushing hug with Richard’s chin hooked over his shoulder. “You okay?”

Richard snorts and pulls back. “Fuckin’ terrified.”

Taron hums an agreement and twists his hands at the hem of his suit jacket, firmly not looking at his best friend. They stand in awkward silence until he realises that he needed to get it over with, and raises his gaze to glare at the other man in disappointment. 

“This is madness.”

Richard’s frown deepens. “Excuse me?”

“I love you.”

It tastes like golden sunshine. But one look at Richard’s increasing horror overcasts the sunshine in rainclouds until the words taste like tar. 

“W-what did you just say?”

“What are you doing?” Taron hisses, shoving his hands into his suit pockets to wrap his fingers in the material. Richard’s eyes pulse comically before he stalks towards Taron with a jaw so tight it could sever diamond. 

“What am I doing?” He almost-shouts; panic fire rushing through his veins in illuminated tendrils. “I’m getting married. What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing, Taron?”

In all honesty, Taron isn’t sure. 

The older man is shaking in his clothing. He blinks rapidly at Taron as though he’s hoping that this conversation was a horrible dream that he can wake up from. Seemingly, the reality is painfully real and cold to the touch. Cold, like death. Unchangeable. 

“I’m not saying run away with me,” he starts to explain but trips over his own tongue. “At least, I-I don’t think that’s what I’m saying but-”

“Stop-” Richard pleads.

“You love _me_.” Taron grinds out through a barrier of fear. Every word was dripping poison into an open wound. For over two years he’d been slowly stitching those cavernous cuts back together to preserve his own sanity and in the space of about ten seconds he’d used Richard as a knife to split the stiches open again. It was fucking excruciating. 

“Don’t.” Richard murmurs, his voice strained and shaking. “That’s not fair, Taron, please don’t.”

“I know,” Taron interrupts immediately, because _fuck_ he knows how selfish he’s being but the thought of living a lie makes him feel sick. Richard can hate him if he wants but at least he’ll know the truth. “This is a shitshow and I’m so fucking sorry but I have to be honest.”

“I love Rose. I’m marrying her, T.”

Taron can only nod vigorously and hold his hands out in a placating manner. “I’m not saying you don’t, Madden. I just think you love me more.”

Richard makes an awful wet noise that sounds like a hybrid gasp-choke and covers his eyes with his hands. “You fucker-”

“Jamie told me,” Taron ploughs on. “He told me exactly what you’d said to him. All of it. An’ I am so fucking sorry that I wasn’t quick enough to say it back before Rose.”

Something snaps in Richard, and when his gaze comes back up, he’s swimming with haunted regret. A faraway look of peril ignites his facial canvas to overwhelm his expression with grief. He stares through Taron, and at that point the reality comes crashing down into clarity. This is the moment that Taron Egerton lost Richard Madden, for good. 

“O’course I love you.” The words are hoarse and whispered. Taron wonders whether he’s scared that Rose is going to overhear him from over a mile away. “How could I not?”

Then, he places one-foot forward, two, and tiptoes towards Taron so they’re standing nose to nose. 

“But ya’ too late. I love Rose, and I’m marrying her. _Now_.”

The church may as well just collapse and crunch Taron into Hell after this. Richard is looking at him with so much desperation, it genuinely causes a tidal wave of nausea to erupt through Taron’s gut. He caused that fear, him. With his stupid fuckin’ honesty and his hope that- that…

“Okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No.” Richard shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have.”

Taron nods. “I’m gonna-”

“You should’ve told me that you love me when we were sleeping together, Taron.” Richard continues, and the bottom falls out of Taron’s world for the second time. “I should’ve been honest with y’as well but-” the word fail him, so he settles for dragging his thumb over Taron’s plump lips before bringing down a heavy fist onto his left shoulder with a _thump_. “Jesus Christ, we should’ve said something.”

Panicked hope rises up in Taron at the vulnerable emotion fanning out through the other man’s features. “Rich-”

“This is done.” Richard then spits out, but he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince. “I’m getting married. This can’t-”

His voice catches. With a shuddering inhale, he searches Taron’s broken eyes until he can hold the breath. 

“Please just go and sit down.” He looks fucking exhausted. This should be the happiest day of his life- new beginnings- and yet all he wanted to do was crawl into a bed and never come back out. 

Taron’s resolve starts to slip. He bites at his lip and flicks his eyes to the ceiling to breathe out a shaky sigh. It takes a moment, but he finally nods, conceding, and turns to slip out of the room.

Yet-

“Madden?” Tentative, unsure.

Richard’s shoulders drop at the familiar nickname when he turns around. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” Taron mutters, and means it. Tears prick at the back of his eyes, but he holds them back, fully aware that he’s already caused too much damage. “For everything.”

Richard just watches him for two long heartbeats. Fighting back tears, he mutters: “Me too.”

The door _snicks_ closed behind Taron, and Richard can’t help but wonder what _the fuck_ he’s just done. 

_Three minutes_

He finds Jamie easily enough. The man is clad in a bright tartan suit and guests keep trying to take sneaky pictures of him over the pews. Taron drops down beside him and takes a moment to try and heave through the hot ball of claustrophobia playing havoc with his lungs.

“Did you find him?” Jamie asks, focus firmly commandeered by the order of service. 

“Yup.” Taron murmurs pathetically. 

“Did he seem okay?”

Did he seem okay? Did he seem o-fucking-kay? He looked like he was going to have a breakdown.

“Nervous.” Taron forces out through gritted teeth. Vibrations tingled under his skin, from both rejection and aching acceptance that he’d _lost_.

“Fuck,” Jamie laughs, finally looking up from his booklet. “What’s wrong with you?”

Two minutes. “Nothing.”

Jamie scoffs. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“M’fine.”

“You sure Rich was okay?” Jamie presses. Then, he opens his mouth and says: “You didn’t finally tell him how you feel did you?” 

The notion is so absurd, that Jamie laughs at his own joke. He shakes his head and he laughs comically at the mental image like a hyena. 

One look at Taron’s shining eyes and the jumping muscles at his cheekbones halts Jamie halfway through a chuckle. Horror grows, and suddenly it was _not_ funny. 

“Oh God.” He hisses. “God, I was joking. You- you didn’t tell him that you love him, right?”

Taron tugs at his lip between his teeth and turns to face Jamie with blinking, aching eyes.

Jamie gasps loudly. Someone in front of them actually turns around to frown, but Jamie’s whole focus is on the pure stupidity of his friend.

“Please don’t say-” Taron starts, but Jamie grabs him by the shoulders and shakes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He sounds furious.

Taron swallows and shrugs. “I don’t know?”

“You don’t-” Jamie bites off the end of the word and smacks his hands to his face to huff into his palms. He takes a huge steadying breath. “Your timing couldn’t be worse, I _swear to God._ ”

“He said he loves me back.” Taron tells him and Jamie’s eyes widen impossibly further. “An’ apparently he wishes we got our shit together and said it sooner but…” Richard’s haunted gaze floods back into his mind and he feels even more sick than before. “He said I’m too late, and he’s right.”

“What?” His friend mutters. “He gave you that hope and then ripped it away?”

Richard walks past them and doesn’t look in their direction. Instead, he keeps his head down and takes his place at the front of the aisle, right in the archway. His eldest sister gets up next to him as his chosen best man and kisses him gently on the temple. Tension still flooded through the man’s posture but at least a small smile broke through the rainclouds. 

“Oh, T.” Jamie says under his breath. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Taron demands convincingly and Jamie snaps his mouth shut. “He loves Rose, and they’re getting married in about thirty seconds. It’s done, and it’s fine.”

Jamie just blinks at him with undeniable pity but wisely doesn’t say anything. 

Then the church doors swing open and _Aeon_ starts to filter through the beams. Taron obediently turns his head to watch at the same time that everyone else moves and drags his lips up into a dopey smile. Rose and her Dad float through the gateway and down the aisle; a hundred people catch their breath at the picture of flawless domesticity, of normality. She looks mesmerising, and it’s no surprise that Richard loves her. 

Taron’s breath hitches when Jamie slides his hand down to squeeze his knee comfortingly. He swallows past the pain and begrudgingly carves his lips into a replica of a lazy grin, framing the happy couple as Rose hugs her Dad and takes her place next to Richard. Her lace train falls in swathes around the hem of her dress, pooling in a bunch on the floor. It looks like tears.

“Dearly beloved, on this fine September day,” their elderly priest booms out, and about fifty people jump in their skins. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Richard and Rose in holy matrimony. Marriage is a sacred right. It is a right bestowed on any child of God, and a right to celebrate.”

The besotted couple beam at each other.

“If any person here knows of any just cause or impediment why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony,” the priest says, and seems to turn to stare into Taron’s soul. Those eyes pierce a canyon in his conscious and suddenly he can’t swallow past the intensity. “Let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Richard casts his eyes over the congregation, over Taron’s head, with a fixed smile. The entire church seems to hold its breath as gazes sidle to other rows, making sure that nobody was going to cause a scene.

But Taron can’t see past the fog of _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

_It should be me up there. I love him and he loves me. This is fucking ridiculous._

The priest seems to settle on the silence with a relieved grin and in slow motion, looks back down at his order of service to crack that jaw open again and make the whole façade watertight. 

So Taron takes a huge breath and mentally apologises to his Mum for what he’s about to do. Without breaking his steady gaze on Richard, the man he would run through a thousand airports for, he slips his eyes closed. A horrible choking tension unfurls throughout the church, and he stands.


	2. Truth Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron has stood up. Shit.

If looks could kill, Taron would’ve been slashed into a thousand pieces of dribbling flesh to stain the church floor the moment he stood up, judging by the murderous glares piercing from all sides. Jamie whispers prayers of protection under his breath and reaches out to yank Taron back into his seat. 

“Do you have something to say?” The priest enquires in confusion, clearly unused to having someone stand up during the objections. His gaze flits between the raw pain on Taron’s features and the sheer panic gracing Richard’s, and the cogs start to whir in his mind. 

Richard has to stand there like a sitting duck and watch as the man he loves more than anything ruins his fucking life. He waits for it, waits for Rose to scream at him and beat him with her bouquet, but it dawns on him that he’s been waiting a while.

Taron’s gaze doesn’t shift. His cognac eyes don’t blink, they stay firmly planted on Richard. Then, he clears his throat. “I don’t have anything to say.” He finally decides, and there’s no way that isn’t directed straight at the groom. “Sorry. Excuse me.” 

He shuffles out of the pew and practically runs for the doors. Jamie throws a pained glance at Richard and quietly follows his friend out, apologising to the many raised eyebrows on the way.

“Alright.” The priest says under his breath, and glances at Richard who has his own gaze transfixed on the doors the men disappeared through. “Well, we’ll just brush over that one, shall we?”  


He carries on with the wedding, but neither the bride or groom are listening. Richard’s head is ringing with recollections of his conversation with Taron outside, and Rose continues to stare at him with a blank expression, wondering if he knows something she doesn’t.

The rest of the wedding unsurprisingly goes off without a hitch. Everyone cheers and claps when they’re pronounced as husband and wife, but Richard can’t shake the uneasy feeling ravaging his insides. Rose picks up on the tension and hardly says two words until the reception. Apparently, it had been Rose’s childhood dream to have her wedding reception on the beach at the outskirts of her ancestral home, with huge marquees adorning the sand. They’ve got a free bar in the shape of a beach hut and everyone is mingling with colourful cocktails and soft holiday outfits. 

Everyone coos at their first dance and Richard does his upmost best to concrete a dopey, loving smile onto his face. However, when the Elton song ends and the raised dancefloor they’ve managed to score becomes awash with drunken guests, Rose tugs on his suit jacket and gestures to the bar. 

“What’s up with you?” She asks when they’re propped against the bar alone. Richard just blinks at her.

“What do you mean?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “You’ve looked like a scolded child since Taron walked out. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” He assures her and smiles politely at the barman when he frowns at them. “I was just concerned, that’s all. He didn’t look great when he left.”

His wife purses her lips, crosses her arms and Richard knows he’s in trouble.

“Richard Madden, I have known you intimately for the past couple of years.” Her voice hardens. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

Nothing slips in her expression when Richard sighs. If anything, she grows even more troubled when Richard exhales slowly and wilts. 

“Taron came to find me before the wedding.” He’s careful to keep it ambiguous as not to send her on the warpath in her bridal gown. “We had a conversation, but it didn’t end brilliantly.”

Rose knits her eyebrows together, her diamond necklace sparkling at her throat under the bright lights. “What did you talk about?”

Richard falters, but there’s no use lying to her. Taron was their closest friend, and of course Jamie knew everything, so there was a massive chance she’d find out anyway. 

“You know how we were sleeping together, before I met you?” He preambles and Rose nods slowly. “Well Taron was in love with me the whole time, and he ended up confessing it to me.”

It clearly wasn’t what Rose was expecting.

“Jesus Christ.” She brings a hand up to her temple, lightly touching her skin so she doesn’t crease her foundation. “I thought he had a problem with me.”

“No,” Richard demands, because she was as far away from fault as humanly possible. “O’course not.”

Then comes the question he’s been dreading. “Well, what did you say to him?”

Well Rose, I told him that I love him too and always fuckin’ have done. I told him how much I wish we’d been adults and told the truth when we were shagging. I nearly kissed him, minutes before I promise to be faithful to you. I-

“I told him that he was too late,” Richard says. His teeth seem to sharpen in his mouth at every word to nip at his tongue. “Because I was marrying you. That’s it.”

Rose drags her gaze down his face like she’s looking for any sign that he’s making it up. A very odd glint shines in her eyes, and suddenly she stops being the sought-after model, the Rihanna and Alexandra Daddario love child, as she slumps into boneless understanding. 

“Okay.” She seems to whisper. Richard presses his lips together and waits, but she doesn’t say anymore. Instead, she moves to gently kiss his cheek in a longing and slightly shaky manner, before gathering her skirts and re-joining the crowds. Richard lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding and also leaves the bar to stand on the seashore and gaze into the dark water.

Behind him, his bride watches his tense figure.

“Give me two seconds.” Rose shouts to her maid-of-honour, who’s waving a bottle of champagne wildly in her direction. “I just need to do something.” She grabs her phone from her bag and wanders off towards the coastal path with her dress billowing behind her like an angel. 

Dexter creeps up behind Richard, tequila shots in hand, and tickles his ribs. He yelps and jumps in the air, only to laugh at his favourite director instead of smacking him when he turns around.

“Beautiful service!” The older man yells over the bass of the DJ, manually curling Richard’s fingers around the shot glass. “Shame Taron missed the ending!”

Richard winces and knocks the shot back. It tastes like burnt oil. “Don’t think he was feeling too great.”

Dexter hums an agreement and surveys the swell of guests. “Nah, you’ve done well here, boy.”

“Cheers Dex.” Richard claps him on the back. “Stop trying to get me drunk though, yeah? We’ve got to be up at arse o’clock to drive to the airport in the morning.”

He gets a chastised snort in return. “Then ya’ a moron for booking the honeymoon the day after the wedding.”

Fuck yes he is. The biggest moron this side of the equator. 

“We have to go tomorrow, Rose has gotta be in New York at the end of next week for a job she couldn’t reschedule.” He shrugs. Dexter raises his eyebrows and chucks back another shot, this time a questionable purple substance. 

“You’ll have a belter of a time.”

Richard nods. He knows he’s lacking his usual energy but he feels sort-of permanently sick. Dexter notices, and sighs.

“Oh, and make sure Taron knows that nothing can happen between you two now that you’re married, will you?” He suddenly blurts out and Richard genuinely chokes on his own saliva. 

“Eh?”

Dexter takes one took at his horrified expression and screws his eyes up so that the skin between his eyebrows puckers. “Oh please. You were both acting in my bloody film, I know exactly what went down after we wrapped. Even Jamie Bell, the confession extraordinaire, needs a confidant.” 

Richard’s mouth opens and closes like a shocked fish as he scrambles for an answer. “I’ll kill him.” Is what he settles on and Dexter lets out a sarcastic laugh. 

“Oh, Rich.”

“Has Taron told anyone else?”

“Not that I personally know of, but it’s probably been eating the poor thing alive.” Dexter says. “He loves you, Richard, and he had to sit there and watch you marry someone else.”

Richard _knows_ that. 

“I’m aware.” He wipes the back of his hand over his exhausted eyes. “Maybe he’s kidding himself by thinking we could make anything work without ruining our friendship?”

It’s a cheap blow. Richard knows, deep down, that he’d fuck up their friendship a hundred times if it meant they could’ve openly loved each other when they had the chance. 

That hurts. 

“I don’t think he’s the one who’s lying to himself.” Dexter chooses to tell him, softly. Without waiting for a reaction, he pats the groom on the back and saunters off towards the beach bar. 

-

“I feel sick.” Taron moans weakly into the abyss, perched on the sofa in his hotel room with his head swinging between his legs.

Above him, Jamie’s holding back a scoff and shaking his head. He’s wedged into the corner of the pillowed furniture next to Taron, rubbing his friend’s back from jagged shoulder blade to jagged shoulder blade with one leg thrown haphazardly over the other in picturesque comfort. To a stranger looking in, they would look like two close friends having a heart-to-heart. In reality, Taron was questioning every life choice he’s ever made whilst Jamie was gliding circles into the pulsating muscles of the Welshman’s back and trying so hard not to say, “I fucking told you so.”

“Shocker.” He replies. “I didn’t think nearly objecting to your best friend’s wedding would be shits and giggles.”

Taron tilts his head upwards to glare daggers at his friend. Upside-down Jamie just shrugs, and moves from the sofa to steal two beers out of the mini-fridge. At the back of his mind, Taron knows that the tax on the beer will be sky-high due to the five-star rating of the hotel, but to be completely honest he doesn’t give a flying fuck.

He wants to get pissed. He wants to get positively _shitfaced_ and try to forget that the undisputed love of his life has just married someone else. Unless, of course, Richard got cold feet when Taron fled the church and is on his way to the hotel right now; hellbent on proving that he was telling the truth when he told Taron he loves him too.

The notion is stupid, so Taron gratefully accepts the Heineken he’s being offered and pulls off the cap with his teeth to swig down a few mouthfuls. Jamie watches him carefully, and wonders if he should call the ambulance now and warn them to get the stomach pump ready. 

“If we were at home,” he nudges Taron in the ribs, who’s staring intently at his suit-clad knees. “I would run to Tesco to buy you a bottle of Jäger and then let you execute your own therapy. An’ I’d hold your hair back in the morning and swaddle you up in blankets in the spare room until you’d survived your slow and painful death.”

“Sounds perfect.” Taron nods, and gulps back more beer. “Why are we still here again?”

“Because I’m giving you the opportunity to go to the reception and apologise to Richard.” Jamie says sternly, and raises his eyebrows when Taron groans at him.

“Apologise? I didn’t make a bloody scene!”

“You shouldn’t have told him you love him two minutes before he was supposed to get married.” The older man repeats, serious and mature. Taron knows that, _fuck he does_ , but hearing it aloud from somebody he respects feels like being kicked in the sternum. “He shouldn’t have said it back, either, and I’ll tell the git as much. You know I love you, T, but I genuinely don’t understand what you thought was going to happen.”

What did he hope would happen? That Richard would pull him up to the altar and marry him instead? That he’d grin with those dimples and that defined cupids bow and they’d elope somewhere warm? That he’d at least give him a chance?

Every scenario seems forced, like a fantasy. The mirages were laughable, even, and Taron can’t actually comprehend his brazen attitude at something so grave. 

“I don’t know.” He finally settles on a quiet answer that Jamie strains to hear. “It felt like the right thing to do at the time, but…”

Jamie sighs heavily when Taron stops himself to glare at the liquid sloshing around inside his beer bottle. “I’m sorry it turned out like this, honestly I am. It kills me to see you so upset but I’m-”

“Not surprised?” Taron guesses, jokingly. His eyes widen in alarm when Jamie nods in tentative regret. 

“Exactly, mate. I’m not surprised.”

Taron can’t be angry with him. He did say that it was a fucking stupid thing to do at the time, so he can’t be irritated. That doesn’t mean it’s not allowed to ache, though.

His eyes start to itch with oncoming tears, and he has to hide his face by pretending to fiddle with his hairline. There’s no use hiding the fact that his fingertips are shaking as they thread through the short strands of hair.

Jamie falters. “Shit. Come ‘ere.”

He holds his arm up and Taron falls backwards into the space gratefully to rest his temple on his friend’s warm shoulder. 

“I fucked up.” He whines, muffled, into the suit jacket. Jamie exhales sharply and rests his cheek on the crown of Taron’s head. 

“You can make it right.” Comes the reply, and for a second Taron believes him. “They’re happy, y-you can make it okay.”

“At least I didn’t actually object.” Taron offers, and Jamie snorts against his hair. “That would make it worse. Although it is-”

“Your biggest regret.” Jamie finishes for him, nodding a little too sharply to be nonchalant.

Taron rolls his eyes. “No- it’s a fucking mess, but I was going to say that it’s not my worst moment.”

“No?” There’s disbelief igniting Jamie’s mosaic eyes. “What is, then?”

It takes a moment, but Taron manages to clear his throat rather convincingly. He salutes his friend with his beer bottle before bringing the glass neck back to his lips. “Falling in love with him in the first place.” And tips his head right back to fill his senses with alcohol; the blessed poison to make him forget.

The shrill warning of an incoming call blares to life from his phone and makes him jump a mile. He fishes it from his pocket, clocks the caller ID and swears loudly. His entire body jerks until he’s perched on the edge of the sofa with the vibrating bloody thing continuing to scream in his grasp. 

“Shit, shit, fucking shit!”

Jamie flaps his hands around with bulging eyes. “Well answer it, dickhead!”

Taron grimaces, but manages to accept the call before it goes to voicemail. He presses the screen to his ear gingerly and closes his eyes around a wince. “Uh… hi?”

-

The ride to Gatwick had taken an hour and a half longer than normal due to the roadworks clogging up the major motorways. Richard’s been tapping a restless rhythm out on the steering wheel for the past forty miles and Rose genuinely believes she might lose her mind. 

“It’s not even rush hour.” Richard fumes when they finally pull into a space in the long-stay car-park. “Who’s going places at ten on a Friday morning?”

“Us?” Rose deadpans, undoing her seatbelt to reach around to the back seat and shrug on her coat because the weather had decided to go all pathetic fallacy and drop to bloody _freezing_. 

Richard snorts and turns off the ignition. “Hilarious.”

Even though the roads surrounding the airport were positively rammed, Gatwick itself was like a ghost town. They breeze through the bag-drop, having already checked in online about two weeks ago, and then through security to find the Emirates Lounge. Richard drops into one of the plush armchairs with an exhausted sigh and gratefully accepts the tea one of the staff members hands to him. 

He hasn’t slept. Taron had commandeered his mind since the wedding yesterday; that haunted, desperate look of impeccable distress. For a horrible second, he genuinely believed that Taron was going to make a scene and reveal their conversation from outside. Perhaps, Taron deserved more respect than that. There was no way he was going to ruin Richard’s happiness. Surely he loved him too much to do that? 

_Surely?_

“-at least the food should be good and- Rich? Oi, selective hearing, are you listening?”

Rose has a very odd look balancing on her features when he tunes back in. 

“Sorry.” Richard murmurs, before offering his new spouse a gentle smile. “Penny for my thoughts?”

“If I gave you a penny for your thoughts, I’d get change.” She says, and starts rifling through her hand luggage with a sigh. 

Half an hour later, the tannoy pings to life. 

“Can all passengers flying with Emirates on flight EK7392 to Mauritius please make their way to Gate 52. That’s Gate 52, for flight EK7392. Thank you.”

“That’s us.” Richard stretches his arms above his head and hopes to God the flight is quiet enough for him to sleep all the way. Rose was an absolute pro at sleeping on planes due to the heavy travelling for modelling jobs, but if Richard flew, he was awake. Always awake and alert, just in case the engines blew and he needed to put on his life jacket at lightning speed. 

Rose nods and swallows heavily. She follows hesitantly as Richard strides out of the private lounge towards their gate. They don’t talk. 

The gate is very quiet when they arrive. Passports and boarding passes in hand, they mill at the back of the small crowd waiting to board.

“You ready?” Richard asks. He gets silence back. When he turns around, Rose is just standing there looking incredibly lost, and there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I’m not going.”

“Uh,” Richard flounders, not entirely sure if he’s heard his wife properly. “Sorry?”

“I can’t go on a honeymoon with you, Rich.” Rose says hoarsely, tugging her hoodie sleeves down over her thumb joint to smooth the fabric against her nails. “Because I’m not the person you truly wanted to marry.”

It’s like being pierced through the heart with a javelin. Richard feels all of his breath tighten in his lungs painfully; the determined glint to Rose’s eyes was _blinding_.

“No-” he starts to bat away her comment but Rose holds her hand up to interrupt. 

“I know you love me.” She nods fiercely, and tentatively steps forwards to place a hand on his thumping chest. “You were truthful to me about that. But Richard… baby, I know you love him more.”

Richard’s jaw falls open, slack. His chest clenches under Rose’s palm as he goes to vehemently deny her gentle accusation, but one look at the vulnerability igniting her pupils stops him dead. He’s run out of lies. Pretending took a lot of energy, and his battery was slowly starting to drain. 

“I was never unfaithful to you.” Is what he says instead. It was imperative that she knew that, because the thought that she could hate him made him feel sick. 

“I know.” Rose tells him. “I never doubted that.”

“You were never second best.”

Her eyebrows draw together, but she doesn’t melt into anger, she continues to stay at that steady glistening level of sadness. “Richard. C’mon. I’ve been second best since the moment I met you.”

“Don’t say that.” He demands, hoarse and rather pathetic.

“Why?” She bites back. “It’s true?”

Richard flags, and gnaws at the inside of his cheek. “I hate that it’s true.”

Rose offers him a shrugged smile that shakes at the edges. Her eyes sparkle with regret under the artificial lights like tiny diamonds, and suddenly her 5’10” frame seems to shrink into fragility. 

“I love you so fucking much.” Her voice burns like molten lava. “But I’m not prepared to stand in the way of your happiness. I have too much respect for you to do that.”

“ _You_ make me happy.” Richard pleads but Rose chuckles lightly and shakes her head.

“Not as happy as Taron makes you. I’ve seen you together, for fucks sake, and it’s like-” she cracks, calm slowly starting to shatter. “You come alive.”

“Fuck.” He manages, before the façade breaks and his eyes scratch with the coming tsunami of hot tears. “You deserved so much better.”

Rose sniffs and chuckles under her breath. “Perhaps.” 

“Not perhaps,” Richard contradicts with enough conviction to solidify his voice from whispered fragments into actual tones. “Definitely. Ya’ fuckin’ incredible, Rosie, and I am _so sorry_ that I can’t give you the happy ever after you deserve.”

“What’s the world record for the fastest divorce?” Rose jokes, trying to make light of the situation. Richard barks out a sudden laugh; wet and choked but relieved that his wife isn’t looking at him in disgust like he’d feared. 

“I thought you’d hate me if you ever found out.” He reveals, and that’s it. That one sentence is what finally causes him to crack, and he suddenly hides his head in his hand to sob into the delicate skin between his fingers. Rose whimpers and lurches forward to cup the back of his neck with one hand as the other stays planted at his pectoral. 

“Us staying together isn’t the right thing to do.” She mutters into his neck, very aware that the man guarding the gate is looking at them in confused disapproval. “It’s not fair on either of us to pretend.”

Richard inhales through a shuddering gasp and presses his trembling lips together, not quite trusting his voice. Rose lifts his chin to meet her gaze with her index finger and somehow succeeds on plastering a normal smile on her face. Not wanting to break her heart any more, Richard smirks back and tries to bask in the last bit of the normality that had graced his life for the last two years. 

When Rose retracts her hands, he feels overwhelmingly alone. 

“Well-” he turns to the gate to find that the crowd has dissipated to less than ten people. “I’m not going on our honeymoon alone.”

Richard spins back around to see that Rose has wandered off and is chatting in low voices to somebody. Her tall figure blocks the person she’s conversing with, but the stranger’s suitcase is resting by their feet. She laughs once, sharp and forced, before turning back to Richard.

His tongue swells about three sizes in his mouth to block his airway.

 _Taron_ stands there next to Rose, trying his best to look incognito in large black sunglasses and a navy baseball cap. His posture seems to shake with insecurity under his grey sweatpants and dark blue hoodie, but his eyes are frantically darting between the married pair like a deer caught in headlights. A broken whine escapes Richard’s chest.

“Of course you’re not going alone.” Rose says softly. “You should be going with the person you love, so you’re going with Taron.”

Richard doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He isn’t sure if he wants to kiss Rose as a massive thank you, or bundle Taron up in his arms and never compromise letting him go again. 

“Wha- when did-?”

“I called him at the reception and told him to book a seat for this flight.” Rose replies with a shrug, like she isn’t the most amazing woman on the fucking planet. She had spent her own wedding reception, the one party when it should be all about her, convincing the man her husband loves to go on their honeymoon in her place. 

“My balls were threatened if I didn’t come.” Taron tells him, shuffling from foot to foot. 

Rose yelps and kicks the back of his heel. “Excuse me, mouth.”

Taron holds his hands up, and slides his sunglasses onto the top of his head. He decidedly doesn’t look at Richard, knowing that their attention needs to stay on Rose out of respect.

She casts her eyes between them both, before nodding minutely and picking up her hand luggage. “Okay. I’m gonna go and sort out how to get my suitcase back after you’ve landed in Mauritius.”

Her light tone strains at the seams, but at least she was trying. Richard admires her strength with every fibre of his fucking being. 

Then-

“I told him that I love him about two minutes before you walked down the aisle.” Taron blurts out, and it looks like it pains him to say it. Rose arches her eyebrows but lets him continue. “But nothing ever happened when you were dating. Nothing, Rose, I promise you.”

Rose reaches forward to plant a hand on his right collarbone. 

“I know, Rich already assured me of that. I trust that I was never taken advantage of.”

The man at the gate flicks his microphone on, and with a measured sigh announces that the gate is closing. Rose takes a deep breath, and pulls Taron into a hug.

“Look after him, please.” She whispers. Taron bites at the inside of his cheek to control himself and promises her that he will. 

Richard rocks her gently when she reaches out to embrace him. Her long eyelashes flutter delicately at her cheeks, and she quietly reminds herself that no matter how excruciating letting her husband go feels, it was the right thing to do. 

“I love you.” She says.

“I love you too.” He replies, because he does, just… just not enough.

Rose pulls back, smiles once with those pink lips and white teeth, and slowly walks away. Richard watches her go with tiny pinpricks of pain shooting up and down his nerves. Yet, one glance at Taron was like bathing in liquid gold; encompassing in wealth and pure love. 

“So…” Taron offers. His passport hangs out of his hoodie pocket as a beautiful reminder of their next step. 

“Uh-huh.” Richard smiles. 

“Apparently you love me back?” His best friend says, a bit in awe and Richard can’t help but laugh. He’s the man who Taron has quite literally run through an airport for. If only _Fleabag_ could see them now.

Something snaps in his chest, and he’s overcome with adrenaline. “Only because you loved me first.”

“Oh yeah?” Taron schools his face into a sarcastic, blank scowl. “You can fuck off to Mauritius by yourself then, yeah?”

“Stop being such a bloody drama queen.” Richard rolls his eyes and bounds forwards to grab the centre of his Earth by his fuckin’ hoodie and crash their lips together.

It’s _everything_. Richard can feel nothing but Taron- that cheeky-ass, talented, gorgeous young man who he is fucking honoured to now call his. His hands rise to tangle in Taron’s hair, the strands grounding him in the present for a moment as he inwardly pleads to every deity to let them stay like this eternally. The fire pooling in his head right down to his toes is unbearable as he tilts his head to properly slot their lips together. Taron lets out a small whine when Richard runs his tongue against the seam of his lower lip. After what feels like days, Richard remembers that they really should be on a plane right now and halts the kiss with a last heated peck. 

“Tis’ you.” He mutters against Taron’s lips. Guessing by the small huff of happiness escaping Taron’s throat, Richard knows that the man’s eyes are dancing alight with joy. “It’s always been you.”

Taron’s expression melts into incandescent content. He entwines their fingers together to squeeze, and feels like he might explode when finally, _finally_ , after two years and a lot of pain, Richard Madden actually squeezes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it, so here it is! I hope it lives up to your expectations!
> 
> This is dedicated to my beautiful heavensfallingaroundus as a belated birthday present! Thanks for being an awesome beta for this chapter and for listening as I ranted about it for god knows how long! You're an absolute gem and one-of-a-kind writer and I just bloody love you. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, ladies, gentlemen and non-binary folk. X

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm writing too many things for this fandom then please tell me to calm it down :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Speak now (I couldn't hold my peace)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054677) by [Immovable_McLennon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immovable_McLennon/pseuds/Immovable_McLennon)
  * [Second Time Lucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20388316) by [Immovable_McLennon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immovable_McLennon/pseuds/Immovable_McLennon)
  * [Missing Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439674) by [Immovable_McLennon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immovable_McLennon/pseuds/Immovable_McLennon)




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